I had an interesting encounter yesterday with a dump truck driver. They tore up a street we use to get to the main street to get to everything else. There were signs marking our street the one we usually use, but they were on the sides of the street, not across the street. My thought was that most construction allowed for people who lived in the neighborhood to use the street to exit out, just not through traffic. I looked down the street and there were construction vehicles, but also a clear path to the main street, so I entered the street and headed that way. Almost immediately I notice that construction was ongoing and to continue would most certainly put me in their way, so I turned back into the neighborhood at the next street, one block down.
There I encountered the dump truck driver. I rolled down my window to explain that we did not think the street was clearly marked that we should not enter the street under construction. He raised his voice and waved his arms. He said something like, “You people! What’s wrong with you? Can’t you see what’s happening here? Don’t you have any common sense?” I felt it was obvious that I could not see, but instead of defending my position, which was my initial instinct, I questioned myself. Was my thought that they were the ones who were not clear about what to do true? I found that I could not know that I was right in my thought. So, instead of clinging to be right, I opened my mind and my heart to just listen to the man. As he spoke, I put my hand over my heart and said, “I’m sorry and thank you.” I looked into his eyes and felt his anger and frustration. He just wanted everyone to be safe. He wanted people to use common sense and be safe, and he was mad that I didn’t do that. He was mad that so many people didn’t do that. I felt that pain and anger at other people for not using common sense, and I put my hand over my heart and continued to repeat, “I’m sorry and thank you.”
He yelled for a minute or so, and repeated my phrase. I wasn’t listening to his words, just listening to his heart, and I repeated my phrase unconditionally. I felt no defense, only love and compassion. After a while, his voice got soft. I think his ranting just trailed off. His face softened, and he sighed. I said thank you one more time. He got in his truck. He seemed more relaxed than when he first started yelling, and I hoped he felt loved, that he felt heard, but I can never know that.
What I found most compelling was that he didn’t keep yelling, even though I stayed there to be yelled at. I didn’t drive off in anger. I didn’t defend. I just listened, apologized and thanked him. I did my best to just love him and show him gratitude. He was probably not expecting that. I think it took him off guard. The face he made when he stopped was something like relief. When I did drive away, I was calm. I felt peace, and happy that I could offer him my gratitude. I was still able to get to where I was going a different way, so I went. When I came home, I remembered I couldn’t go my usual way, and didn’t.
I do not know how he received me or my message. I will never know. It doesn’t matter. I left a situation where I could have been stressed by it for hours, that is being yelled at by a stranger, and having someone be so mad at me and think I was stupid. I could have spent the next several hours defending myself. I didn’t. I did say that I wished they had marked it better, then I let it go. Had dinner with my wife and a lovely evening there after. I hoped he also had a better day, but I cannot know that. There were several people driving toward him on the street as I left. I do wonder how he addressed their questions about the construction and how to leave the neighborhood. I also will never know that. I do wonder if he was less angry at them though.
Namaste (the light in me, thanks the light in you)